Child's Play
by coleys17
Summary: What happens when Sherlock isn't home? And John has the flat all to himself! Just a cute little one-shot! Added one with Sherlock finding a photo album in John's room! This is becoming a collection of one-shots!
1. Dress Up

Child's Play

"Sherlock?" John called peeling the sweat soaked jumper from his body. The streets of London were full of people out enjoying the summer heat but John didn't want the sun and had left the clinic early after hours of zero patients. John's eyes found Sherlock's usual black trench and blue scarf hanging by the door an indication he should be home. "Sherlock?" the doctor called again almost hearing crickets as a response.

_He isn't home! That rarely happens!_

John thought excitedly looking around the flat in a new light. It was like a theme park! All the things he could do and without hearing the loud complaints of his flat mate. John laughed out loud. Striping off his shoes and socks the ex-solider strolled through the rooms marveling at the differences he noted.

No strange smells, no complaining, no pouting, no violin music (though he didn't mind that much even at 4 in the morning), no consulting detective's childish demands! John felt like a kid in a candy store! What should he do first? Walk around in his boxers? Cook something? LISTEN TO LOUD MUSIC?!

_LOUD MUSIC!_

John hurried back into the living room over to the dusty, neglected stereo system. Plugging in his phone John spun the volume dial up radiating Metallica through the speakers. Laughing John spun around playing an air guitar. He could hear nothing but the music in his ears! After several minutes of dancing around the room John jumped on some of the furniture doing fake stage dives for a pretend audience.

_If Sherlock were here…_

John stopped that thought from forming. No, right now it was his time Sherlock got every other minute of the day! John told himself going back to his head banging feeling bubbling excitement.

An hour later John was sprawled over Sherlock's chair ACDC now emulating through the flat with his eyes closed he listened to the music. Laying there John had a silly idea and decided this was the best time to go with it. Rolling off the chair John hurried to his room. Minutes passed before he returned to the living room dressed in full army greens, his unloaded gun in hand. Glancing around the room a ridiculous smile on his face John suddenly dropped behind his chair gun clutched in both hands.

_Trapped behind enemy lines Captain John Watson has only one choice if he wants to survive and make it over the boarder! To KILL!_

John narrated in his head peeking over the chair to spy invisible gunmen. Giving a loud battle cry that was lost in the blaring music the doctor launched himself over his chair aiming the gun "Bang! Bang!" he shouted watching the fake men fall. John dropped to a roll ending up under the computer desk.

_Almost there just have to make it pass the snipers and land mines._

Jon giggled glancing around before crawling out from under the table. Hopping over the floor as if dodging landmines John dove into the kitchen.

_Damn! That was close!_

Tip-toeing over the kitchen floor John glanced down the hall leading to the stairs up to his room. Giving a loud cry of fake pain John dropped his gun clutching his chest "AHHHH! He got me!" he yelled dramatically stumbling back into the kitchen bumping into the experiment laden table. Slipping slowly to the floor John groaned "Now I'll never make it home," he whispered as if they were his dying words. He let his eyes drift closed in an unrealistic death pose.

Cracking an eye John looked around "I'm not dying today," he growled one hand still clutched to his chest. The almost middle aged man rolled to his knees using his free hand to drag himself in to the living room. "I. Will. Not. Die. Today!" He breathed pulling himself further into the room. Rolling on to his back John stared up at the ceiling "Not. Strong. Enough. Tell. Diane. I. Love. Herrrrrr….." John droned trailing the last word out before bursting out in a fit of laughter.

Pushing himself up John's eyes fell on Sherlock's coat and scarf a thought striking him. Feeling a little sneaky John ran to his room grabbing the dropped gun on the way, stripping from his greens and pulling on a shirt and jeans. Back in the living room John grabbing up the infamous scarf and wrapped like Sherlock did around his neck. The cloth was incredible soft no wonder the taller man wore it all the time. Next John carefully pulled on the trench.

It was extremely long on him the bottom pooled around his feet. John had to roll up the sleeves several times just to find his hands.

_This thing is really warm! Now I know why Sherlock never layers up._

A slow song came out of the stereo and John bowed to a fake partner "Shall we?" he asked putting his arms up as if taking the dancer in hand. Slowly John moved around the room dancing with the pretend person. Caught up in the music John closed his eyes and let his mind loose in the motions of moving. Blindly he found his way into the kitchen somehow managing not to run into anything.

Humming with the music John cracked his eyes open imagining a petit little blonde in his arms as he moved back into the living room. Out of the corner of his eye John caught sight of a dark figure sitting on the couch. Startled John stumbled barely keeping himself from falling. Sherlock was back and sitting comfortably on the couch his piercing eyes watching John.

The doctor's face burned several shades of red as he scrambled over the coffee table to the stereo ending the noise. A thick silence fell over the room Sherlock continued to stare at him his face completely blank. Slowly easing his way closer to the couch John didn't look at his flat mate mortified what the man has witnessed. "Sher…lock…I …I…can…explain?" he stammered though he had nothing, couldn't think of a single logical thing that would make the situation any better.

John stood there awkwardly eyes on the floor feeling like a scolded child though no one had spoken. "John," Sherlock's warm baritone spoke but John kept his eyes fixed on the floor, "John, look at me," the command was gentle but drew John's eyes without much effort. The brown of his eyes found the stormy blue/grey of Sherlock's. The face gave nothing away and they just stared at each other. John became fully aware he was still wearing the too big trench and scarf. The crimson of his bush deepened but his eyes never moved from Sherlock's.

The consulting detective slowly stood towering easily over the shorter man. Sherlock moved gracefully closer to the doctor stopping inches from him. John had to look up to keep his eyes on Sherlock fighting a strong urge to run. Slowly Sherlock unwrapped the scarf from John's neck draping it over his slim white arm. Next he leaned in to help John out of the trench. Holding the two things in his hands Sherlock linger in front of John a bit longer before a small secret smile stole across his face as the taller man turned returning the items to their spots.

John remained rooted to his spot conscious of the younger man "Doctor," the man's voice cracked. "A cup of tea would be lovely," John turned his surprised eyes to the detective who was now planted in his seat hands steepled under his chin in his thinking position. Dazed and confused about what had just happened John drifted into the kitchen getting the tea that was requested.

Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot when John returned with a steaming cup "Thank you John and…" he said looking up at John with that same secret smile, "I hope you had fun," the briefest sound of amusement edge his voice as he took the drink. John smirked his embarrassment fading quickly as he took his own seat across from his friend sipping lazily on his tea.


	2. Photo Album

*Had a one-shot with John home alone, so naturally I thought Sherlock needed one too!

John wasn't home. He was working the clinic today and wouldn't be home for hours. Sherlock very rarely admitted to missing his blogger but today he would gladly swear on a bible if it meant John would be home soon.

Sadly it wouldn't be that easy. Sherlock lounged in his usual seat, staring at the empty chair of one John Watson. His flat mate and best friend.

"John!" He yelled, tipping his head back against his chair. Silence met his shout, not even a complaining landlady.

"JOHN!" Sherlock tired again knowing full well that it wouldn't do any good. John was at the clinic until seven tonight. Glancing over Sherlock spied a clock, it read: 11:00 a.m.

_Nine hours! What the bloody hell am I to do for nine hours?!_

"John…" he sighed feeling defeated and lonely.

_Lonely? _

Sherlock pondered for a moment. Did he feel lonely? His never felt it before, so how could he truly know what it felt like.

_Lonely…_

The word felt right, it felt like it was the only word that would fit how he was feeling. Sherlock growled squirming in his seat.

_No John! No interesting cases! No Mrs. Hudson!_

He ranted angrily in his thoughts.

_How do normal people go on like this?_

Sherlock contemplated calling or texting Garth again but he had already done that to the point the Detective Inspector was now ignoring him.

_Not Garth, George? Gary? Grant?_

Huffing he folded his arms over his chest and started to pout.

_Maybe I could bother Mycroft…_

_No, I'm definitely not lonely enough to start doing that!_

Sherlock glanced around the room, thinking what he might do to entertain himself until the good doctor returned. Nothing stuck out to him, his violin? No he only really enjoyed doing that when John was there to listen. John's laptop? No, Sherlock had already gone through everything on there. John's room...

_John's room always has the most interesting stuff._

Sherlock mused, pushing himself to his feet. The journey through the flat and up the stairs to John's room took but a moment.

The doctor's room was neat and orderly, portraying the army life he once led.

_Where would John keep his gun?_

Sherlock thought ducking to look under the bed. The last time Sherlock had gotten John's gun and shot up the smiley face wall, the ex-soldier had put Sherlock in a headlock just to get the thing back.

"Sherlock! I swear the next time I see you with this gun, I'm going to shoot you with it!" John had shouted when he had finally been able to get the gun back.

Sherlock smirked at the memory, this time he was going to make sure that he put the gun back so John wouldn't see him with it. The underside of the bed proved to be a waste of time so Sherlock moved on to the closet.

Opening it up Sherlock spotted the familiar army trunk.

_Would John put it in there? That would be a silly place._

He grinned at the idea that John would think a simple army trunk would keep him away. Pulling the trunk from the closet Sherlock popped it open.

_No gun…_

Sherlock frowned. There wasn't much in the trunk but Sherlock could tell the content hadn't been messed with for some time so the gun couldn't possibly be in its depths. John's army greens sat in the bottom, looking forlorn and forgotten.

Sherlock cautiously drew them from the container. Standing up he let the shirt fall open.

**Watson, John**

**Field Medic **

Was printed in the right side of the chest. Sherlock eyed the shirt, imagining the small doctor in the shirt. A sudden idea sprung to his mind. Slowly the tall man pulled off his own button up and pulled on the doctor's.

The thing was loose on Sherlock's chest and surprisingly long as well covering over the top of his dark slacks. Looking to the full length mirror in the corner Sherlock looked himself over. He saw the same face he had seen his whole life but the green of the army shirt looked regal and Sherlock saw a completely different man staring back at him.

Bending over to pull out the pants Sherlock unrolled them and knew instantly there was no way they would fit. John's short legs were nothing compared to Sherlock's supermodel styled legs. He huffed disappointed before remembering he had once snagged a pair of regulation military pants just in case.

"Looks like I'll finally get to put them to use!" Sherlock said loudly as he raced for his room.

Dressed in his own army pants and wearing John's boots, Sherlock now eyed himself in the mirror. He had morphed into a taller version of John with dark hair.

"Yes! Sir!" Sherlock shouted saluting the mirror before moving to put his hands behind his back in a lacks position. Seeing something out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock looked to the trunk. There he saw something he hadn't seen before, a photo album.

Curious Sherlock sat down next to the trunk with his legs crossed and pulled the album out. Setting it down between his legs, Sherlock opened it. A young John smiled up at him. John looked to be in his early twenties and was holding an army application paper. Turning the page Sherlock saw more John pictures.

One with John training to be a medic, another with him in boot camp. Turning the page, John holding a large gun, John next to a smiling patient.

Another page, John unsmiling in army greens, saluting, John looking weary and covered in dark blood.

Sherlock turned the page again, he froze. He saw John with his eyes closed, blood splattered on his face. An oozing wound on his shoulder was visible. Doctors were surrounding this bleeding John.

_When he got shot…_

Sherlock deduced. The picture made his stomach roll. He had never been sensitive to the sight or smell of blood but seeing John like that, seeing the strongest man he had ever known at death's door...well it terrified Sherlock. Even though the picture was old and that time had long passed Sherlock turned the page without looking at the second picture before he became nauseous.

The next pictures were better. John smiling tiredly, giving the camera thumbs up, still hooked up to I.V's and a heart monitor. John with his shirt hanging off his shoulder, showing off the new scar.

Next page was of John and Harry. Sherlock could tell just from the first picture it was John's birthday and Harry was drunk. John's face in the picture wasn't looking towards the camera but at his sister with a disappointed frown while Harry flipped the camera off.

Smirking Sherlock looked to the second picture. This one was of a younger John and Harry, as kids. Harry was doubled over, laughing while John had his arm over her shoulder with his own laughing face.

Flipping the page Sherlock was shocked to see himself.

It was of him and John standing together. Both had serious faces and looked to be having a conversation. Crime scene tape in the background told Sherlock it was taken on a case.

_Cell phone...must thank Graham for this..._

Sherlock thought moving on to the next picture. The second picture was of Sherlock and John laughing about something. He was startled to see that in the picture he looked genuinely happy. John was smiling as well his face turned in Sherlock's direction. He stared at the picture wondering who and where this had been taken. Searching Sherlock deduced it was another picture taken at a crime scene and again taken by a cell phone.

_Grath again…_

Going on Sherlock found more pictures of himself and John. The next one was not from Geoff, most likely Mrs. Hudson.

_Traitor…_

Sherlock thought looking it over. In the picture he was laying, clearly asleep on the couch. He was stretched out taking up the entire space. John was leaning against the couch sitting on the floor also asleep with his chin resting on his chest. Sherlock's hand was gripping John's shoulder in the picture. Noting that Sherlock stared at it.

_When did this happen?_

He had fallen asleep on the couch plenty of times but this moment frozen in time he had no recollection. Sherlock pulled the album closer to his face but the image gave nothing more.

Looking to the second picture he smirked. It was John and him again. It was after a case and Sherlock had gotten a deep cut on his arm, of course he refused to let the paramedics stitch him up.

In the picture John was in the process of stitching the wound, he wore a very exasperated look but still held a smile. Sherlock was glaring at him in the background, his mouth open, probably issuing an insult at the doctor. Sherlock chuckled at the picture before turning the page.

The next two were taking by John himself, from his cell phone. Sherlock sighed.

_Selfies…_

John had pulled Sherlock in at the last moment and snapped the picture. Surprisingly it wasn't blurred. John was smiling at the camera and even Sherlock held a small smile. Their heads were pressed together on the small plastic surface of the photo.

_Actually not a bad picture…_

Sherlock thought glancing to the next one, also a selfie.

John had been sitting on the couch and Sherlock had propped his feet up on the doctor's lap while he read. John was at the edge of the picture aiming the lens down the couch to capture a glaring Sherlock. He chuckled and turned the page to the last photo.

This one was one that Sherlock had taken and he clearly remembered taken it. He was unsure how John had come by it. It was of a sleeping John.

It had been a late night and John had been reading when he had fallen asleep. The book had hit the floor with a loud thud startling Sherlock from his mind palace. Looking over he noticed the doctor was asleep, even attempted to wake the man which proved to be impossible.

Sherlock had stood over John pondering how to get him into bed where he would be more comfortable and wouldn't wake with a sore shoulder. When Sherlock couldn't come up with something, he instead grabbed up a pillow and blanket. Putting the pillow under the doctor's head and the blanket over him. Sherlock felt a picture needed to be taken. That picture had somehow ended up in John's album.

_I'll have to ask him about it._

Sherlock thought shutting the book and returning it to the trunk, his thoughts far from finding the gun. Pulling off the shirt, Sherlock folded it as it had been and returned it back as well. The boots followed and Sherlock closed the trunk, pushing it back into the closet.

As he straightened wearing only pants, Sherlock's eyes drifted over the hung jumpers "Hmmm…" he smiled trailing his fingers over the soft wool.

Pulling a large one from the hanger, Sherlock eyed it. The jumper was simple, a light brown color that went well with John's eyes. It didn't have a pattern which suited Sherlock as he pulled it over his head.

It was too large around and too long for even his lanky limbs. Sherlock suppressed a giggle as he rolled up the sleeves to find his fingers. They didn't stay rolled. Eventually Sherlock just left them long. The heavy sleeves drug the jumper around his shoulders.

Glancing over at the mirror Sherlock laughed out loud. His stark green army pants, and light brown jumper that dropped around his shoulders, reminded him of a uni girl during a late night study session.

The sound of the door opening down stairs made Sherlock's heart jump in his chest "John?" he whispered before hearing,

"Sherlock? You here?"

Sherlock raced out of John's room and down the stairs. The doctor was just coming into the kitchen when the taller man plowed into his knocking them into the wall.

"Sherlock!" John yelped as the taller man wrapped around him face buried in the shorter man's shoulder.

Sherlock snuggled into his doctor. John chuckled patting the younger man lightly on the back.

"Did you miss me?"

Sherlock snorted without lifting his head "What gave you that idea?" he asked feeling John's arms wrap around him tightly.

"Hey Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock pulled back without letting go to look the other man in the face.

"Is that my jumper?" John asked looking at the sweater hanging off of Sherlock's shoulders.

"Not at all," the taller man replied wrapping himself around the doctor again.

"I should come home from the clinic more often," John laughed with Sherlock joining.


	3. The Importance of Communication

*This is all dialogue between Sherlock and John.

"Sherlock!"

"John."

"Sherlock!"

"John…"

"Sherlock!"

"How many times are we going to do this back and forth?"

"Bloody Hell Sherlock!"

"That's not my name John, it's William Scott for the record."

"What?"

"My full name is William Scott Sherlock Holmes."

"What…never mind! Stop changing the subject! I'm mad at you."

"Obviously, but ill placed."

"Ill placed?! Sherlock! You used my favorite jumper in an experiment again! Now it's ruined!"

"If it will make you feel better I will get you another hideous replacement."

"Sherlock! That will not make me feel better! You are missing the point!"

"I see you might be overreacting,"

"Overreacting! Overreacting! Sherlock overreacting is when you shoot the wall when you are bored!"

"That is not overreacting John. That is exerting pent up energy."

"So the wall deserves your pent up energy?"

"Of course, all it does all day is stand there!"

"Sherlock it's a wall that's what it does!"

"Well it should look to do something a little more entertaining."

"Holding up the roof isn't entertaining enough?"

"How normally boring!"

"You are ridiculous!"

"Oh and how you love it."

"Love it? What…I…I…don't!"

"John, don't lie to me. Dilated pupils, increased heart rate, flushed skin, all point to the obvious."

"Obvious? Obvious what?"

"That you Dr. John Hamish Watson love me."

"L…love…you?!"

"I love you too."

"What?! No! Sherlock! I..."

"Too late John you said it, I love you."

...

...

...

"What…were we arguing about?"

"I don't know, something tedious most likely."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John,"

"I love you."

"I love you too."


	4. Invasion

*Oh my goodness! Over a thousand readers! YAY! Thank you guys! This is why I keep adding to this collection! So as a reward for this milestone I wrote this little tease! It started out as silly little Sherlockian shenanigans but I became possessed and it turned into fluffy Johnlock! Not complaining! Never will I complain about Johnlock fluffiness! So enjoy!*

**(Warning: A few words of semi-profane language, not strong but still there. You have been warned.)**

"Sherlock?" John spoke grumpily.

"Yes John," Sherlock asked not taking his eyes off the experiment in front of him.

"Would you mind…I don't know…GETTING OFF OF ME?!" The doctor yelled the last words.

Sherlock had been sitting on his lap for the last fifteen minutes for some reason and had yet to move or speak of his reasoning behind the invasion. John had been quietly eating breakfast when the insane man came out of nowhere and plopped down, ignoring John's protests, and pulled a few test tubes over, moving the other man's food aside.

"Yes John I would mind very much," Sherlock replied leaning back into John's chest as he examined a test tube, "these chemicals are very delicate and require a very stable handling."

"And that requires you to sit on me?" the doctor asked glaring at the back of the other man's head.

"You were in my spot," Sherlock replied simply bringing a test tube up to his eyes.

John stared at him, grinding his teeth together. Sherlock had never sat in the chair to John's knowledge! He just moved it around a bit a few weeks ago but never had the taller man's behind met the seat!

"How long is this going to take?" John asked knowing that arguing would lead nowhere. The doctor got no answer as Sherlock continued to fiddle with the chemicals.

_His arse is so bony! He really should eat more!_

John really didn't want to think about Sherlock's arse no matter how glorious and bony it was. That train of thought lead to memories of all the times John had seen the man strutting around in a sheet barely covered, he shivered.

_I'm not gay!_

The doctor scolded himself trying to relax but his legs had started to fall asleep and were tingling unpleasantly.

"Sherlock if you don't get off me I'm going to stand up and you'll end up on the floor!"

The other man didn't seem to be listening, typical. John remained sitting for a second longer, giving Sherlock time to move. When a minute had gone by and he still hadn't acknowledged the warning John stood.

Sherlock gave a surprised yelp as he landed on the floor luckily he had set the test tubes down on the table only moments before. John stood over him smirking and holding back laughter.

"I warned you and you ignored me." He told the man on the ground before grabbing up his cold breakfast and retreating to his room.

Finishing his breakfast on his bed John was feeling a nap. Setting the empty plate on his night table, John pulled off his jumper tossing it to the floor before sliding under the covers. It didn't take long until John was snoring lightly.

An hour or so later the sudden shift in his mattress woke John with a start. A warm arm snaked around his waist and a body plastered itself to his back.

"What's goin' on…what's happening?" John asked groggily still partially asleep.

The invader didn't respond just borrowed further into John's spine. Turning his head the doctor spotted raven curls over his shoulder.

"Sherlock," John groaned rubbing an eye with the palm of his hand, "what are you doing?" he asked moving to roll over but the arm around his waist tightened stilling him.

"Sherlock, is something wrong?" the doctor asked patting the arm lightly but still didn't get any answer. The rude awakening had slightly irritated him but the silence was aggravating.

"Damnit Sherlock what is it?" John snapped.

Sherlock mumbled into his back "What?" John asked.

Sherlock again mumbled into the smaller man's back without moving his head. Sighing heavily and glaring over his shoulder John threw the covers off his body. Sitting up with some difficulty, John stood with Sherlock still clinging to him with both arms wrapped around his chest.

"Sherlock this is ridiculous!" John said trying to pry the locked fingers apart, it was useless. Defeated, the smaller man took a few unsteady steps forward with Sherlock's feet dragging behind him. The weight on his back threw him off balance and John found himself falling.

The two hit the floor with a loud thud and several loud groans from John.

"Sherlock you arse," he managed trying to catch his breath after having it knocked from him by Sherlock's weight.

"I'm bored," Sherlock muttered getting off of John and leaving without another word. The man on the floor stared after him with disbelief. As the feeling passed, John pushed himself to his feet. Grumbling profanities he slammed the door shut, locked it, and threw himself into bed.

John didn't leave his room until natures call and the growling of his stomach drove him downstairs. Ducking quickly into the bathroom to take care of that need, afterwards John moved into the kitchen. Making up a few sandwiches and headed for the living room he found Sherlock lying on the floor.

"What's this?" the doctor asked, biting into a sandwich.

"Thinking," Sherlock mumbled with his finger's steepled under his chin and his eyes closed.

"Obviously," John was very familiar with that particular pose, "but why on the floor?" he asked.

"Not important," the man replied hinting he didn't want to talk.

"Whatever, there's a sandwich here for you." John told him setting the plate holding the food down on the coffee table on his way to his seat. Lowering himself into his usual chair John relaxed as he worked on his sandwich.

The silence was a little much but the doctor knew that Sherlock was very particular when he was in his mind palace. So to help fill the quiet John grabbed up the book he had been trying to get through, even though Sherlock had already ruined the ending for him. "It was the neighbor of course, any idiot could see that!" sighing John settled in, reading and noticing some minutes later Sherlock had been right but kept reading.

Without warning John's book was shoved aside and Sherlock climbed on to his lap, wrapping his arms around the doctor's neck and burying his face in the side of John's face.

"Not again!" John growled feeling the taller man press into him closer, "Sherlock you really need to give a bloke some warning." He told him expecting nothing from the other man and was not surprised when indeed got silence.

As Sherlock's weight settled into him, John put his arms around the man's waist and squeezed gently "What is this Sherlock?" he asked still receiving nothing from him.

"Why have you been doing this?" still nothing.

"If you needed a hug, or a cuddle, or something all you need to do is ask." John told him rubbing the man's back.

In that moment he didn't feel uncomfortable or embarrassed about being this close to his flat mate. John did mentally admit he had feelings for Sherlock, more than platonic feelings. He also knew that Sherlock was 'married to his work' so John didn't have any hope for a relationship hence the 'not gay' motto. Even in this intimate position John held no spark of hope.

Absentmindedly the doctor started stroking Sherlock's back "Tell me Sherlock," he whispered, "let me know what's going on in that magnificent brain of yours."

Sherlock slowly pulled his face from John's body. His eyes were wide and searching, he rested his forehead against the other man's keeping their eyes locked together.

"What's going on in yours?" the taller man murmured.

"I'm confused and worried," John told him. Sherlock's eyes always fascinated him they were a rainbow, ever changing, and beautiful, a wonderful contrast between the dark jet of his hair and the pale of his skin.

"What are you worried about?"

"You," the doctor answered simply.

Sherlock's eyes blinked at him in a way that said he wasn't expecting that as an answer. "Why are you worried about me?" he asked timidly.

John sighed, he had a list filled with answers to that particular question and fought to narrow it down. When it became too difficult he settled with just one from the list "I am worried something is wrong and you aren't telling me." He finally managed.

Sherlock lips became a thin line, eyes darting about the doctor's face. John saw the thoughts whirling behind his pupils, he couldn't read them but he watched the gears spinning.

"There is something," the taller man whispered slowly, each word drawn out in separated breathes. John nodded already knowing that but wanting Sherlock to speak without being pressured too much.

"It's been circling for a while and…I…I don't know…" his voice failed him.

John knew in that moment that something was definitely wrong. Sherlock never faded out like that! He always had something to say, always knew what to say. Smiling encouragingly the doctor willed Sherlock to speak, to rely on him, to trust him. Stilling the strokes on the taller man's back, John rubbed small circles with his thumbs instead, a reminder that he was there for his friend.

Sherlock took a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. The smaller man watched his friend battling with the walls he had erected. Sherlock's lids slid open, eyes focused once again on John. looking determined. Slowly Sherlock pulled his arms from around John's neck and brought a hand to the doctor's face laying it on his cheek. His other hand rest with his finger's curled lightly into the back of John's neck.

"I've been fighting with myself John," Sherlock murmured sounding closer to his normal self. John remained quiet watching his friend's face though it remained expressionless.

The taller man slid his face closer, their noses pressed together, lips hovered centimeters apart, nearly brushing. Sherlock's eyes stayed on John's, their breath mingled.

"I don't think I can fight anymore."

John was frozen. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance but he held back. His walls were crumbling, there was a growing spark, that hope he had denied himself. Sherlock needed to come to him, Sherlock needed to be the one to finish the distance.

They started at each other for what felt like hours, brown melting into moon lit eyes. Both barely breathing, their warm air swirling together in the narrow space between them, the world was silent. It felt like everything had paused to wait, watching at the edge of their seats as the two friends teetered on the cliff. This was a moment in time where things could change drastically and the universe was stopping to wait.

"Don't fight," John whispered, the words slipped past his lips without meaning to. He held his breath praying that those two words hadn't broken anything.

Sherlock's breath hitched and his hand quivered on John's cheek, the fingers on his neck pressed deeper into the skin. No other words were exchanged as the taller man crossed the tiny distance and their lips met. The lovely pressure made John's eyes fluttered but he kept his lids from shutting, wanting to witness this moment. Sherlock's eyes stayed on his a second before they slid closed and he leaned more into the kiss.

Sherlock's face opened before John as the emotion pour through their simple connection. John felt it all the need, the longing, the tenderness, and lust. It was raw and powerful. The pent up emotion was a water fall, soaking through John, washing him away. Sherlock was glowing!

Laughter and swelling happiness started building in his chest. His hands slid up Sherlock's body cupping his face gently as they moved together. Little sounds of pleasure escaped from the taller man, the hand on John's neck pulled sliding them even closer.

Sherlock pulled his face back, eyes still closed, mouth hanging open slightly. John waited, his heart pounding against his ribs. Minutes went by as both men sat like statues. The seconds were dragging and the silence was starting to press in. Sherlock's eyes opened locking instantly in John's and his mouth shut.

A little more time went by as they merely looked at each other until Sherlock's mouth turned into a small smile and he moved in for another kiss. This one was mingled with laughter from both men. Sherlock kissed John's face, relishing in his laughter. Lowering his head the taller man nuzzled into his doctor's neck, closing his eyes with pleasure. The dying laughter rumbled through both their bodies.

"John?"

"Hmmm…"

"Can we cuddle?"

John chuckle wrapping his arms around the man in his lap "Any time you want," he replied resting his head against Sherlock's finally feeling complete. His insane, high-functioning sociopath flat mate who became friend and quickly morphed into something a little more was where he belonged, wrapped in the arms of one John Watson and he was never letting go.

*Reviews as always would be welcomed!

So for my next entry I was thinking some angsty stuff, what do you guys think? Nothing too extreme of course but not even Johnlock fluffiness is safe in the fanfics world.


	5. Peroxide Passions

*So this was a separate story and I though since it's a one-shot might as well move it into this collection. Enjoy and sorry if you've read it.

"John hurry up he's getting away!" Sherlock's voice drifted back to him though it was moving away and very hard to hear.

John sighed pumping his legs faster looking around for some sign of the running men he had been following. The case had been a simple murder but Sherlock had insisted on picking up the dockworker who had committed the crime himself.

"Sherlock that is Greg's job!" John had argued but Sherlock's glare and pouting had convinced the doctor to give in. God knows why he listened to the insane sociopath.

"John, Lestrade lacks the proper abilities of an infant so forgive me for having doubts about his detective skills." Sherlock had retorted as he hailed a cab that of course magically appeared in front of them before whisking them to the Port where the chase initiated.

The sound of feet coming nearer made John slow his pace. He reached for his gun cursing when he remembered that Sherlock had somehow nicked it from him during the cab ride. As he approached the corner of a cargo container John paused listening to the feet. Calculating their progress John stuck his foot out just in time to catch the coming person unaware.

The dockworker Hank Granger flew through the air sprawling on the ground. John smiled in triumph as Sherlock around the corner coming into view.

"Excellent you got him," he said with approval.

Though it seemed Hank had a different idea. He was back on his feet fists up "If I'm going in, I'm gonna beat someone bloody first!" the man threatened.

The other two men looked at each other.

"May I?" John asked a small smirk on his face.

Sherlock had his hands behind his back as he gave a short nod stepping back "Be my guest," he said with a gesture accompanying a knowing smile that played on his lips.

John rolled his shoulders to loosen them then cracked his knuckles together while twisting his neck side to side, listening as the muscles sang.

"This is going to be fun," He said buzzing with anticipation.

Stepping forward John dodged the first punch that came. He returned his own left uppercut to the man's torso. Hank gasped doubling over.

John filled with disappointment "Oh come on Hank! Don't tell me you're done already!" he cried circling around the man, "That was even my left!" John added watching as the man straightened.

"You are insane!" Hank barked throwing himself at John.

The ex-soldier let the man tackle him to the ground even let him get a few hits in. When John had a faint taste of blood on his tongue, he decided that Hank had had enough of an upper hand. Wrapping his legs around Hank's middle John threw the man to the side. Rolling with him John ended up straddling Hank giving him a solid hit to the nose breaking the soft cartilage. Blood streamed from the man's face John flipped the man on to his stomach using one arm to pin Hank' legs while the other pinned his hands.

"That's a bit better though you wouldn't last a day in the army mate," John told Hank feeling all fight leave the man.

Sherlock took that moment to step in producing a pair of handcuffs to put around Hank's wrists. "Marvelous display John," he compliment stunning John, "Though I wouldn't have let him hit quiet so much."

The doctor touched a few tender spots on his face but nothing felt broken "I give them a few hit to get their guard down," he informed the detective, "Then I give them my full power it ends the fight much faster but it's more fun to see them give up when they realize they're no match." He gave Sherlock a mischievous grin.

He gave the smaller man a smile "I'm glad you're on my side," Sherlock said dryly John chuckled receiving a gentle pat on his back from the taller man.

Lestrade arrived minutes later "Great you got him," he said though sounding less than grateful, "You alright John? Got you a bit I see."

John shrugged "Nothing I can't take care of later," he assured the inspector.

"Good, why don't you two get out of here. Swing by the Yard tomorrow to give statements." Greg added turning to grab up the dockworker.

"That doesn't look good," Sherlock commented poking an open cut on John's forehead.

The doctor winced feeling a sting "I don't need stitches but it will be painful for the next few days." He told his friend swatting the probing hand away.

They were on their way home to 221B Baker Street. The cab rider wasn't long but John was exhausted so it felt like it was dragging. He let out a sigh of relief when the car pulled up to the curb. He climbed out of the cab hurrying towards the flat leaving Sherlock to pay the fee.

Inside the flat John removed his jacket hanging it in the usual place. Moving for his room where he kept his medical kit, John grabbed it up, and made his way down the stairs to the bathroom.

"Let me help you this that," Sherlock offered before John made it.

The doctor paused looking the taller man over carefully "You sure?" he asked watching the other glare and sigh looking slightly annoyed.

"John I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure," he snapped folding his arms across his chest pouting.

John smiled ignoring the attitude "Fine but let's do it on the couch for a bit of comfort plus the bathroom's too small for both of us." He agreed following Sherlock into the living room and planting himself on the couch.

The other man perched next to him opening up the kit across their laps. "I need a wet cloth," Sherlock muttered standing, heading for the kitchen. Not a moment before he was back a dripping cloth in hand. Using the cloth Sherlock wiped up now dried blood from John's face.

"Use the peroxide first," John instructed. Sherlock pulled out a cotton ball and the small bottle of peroxide. "Thank you by the way," John said his eyes closed while the younger man worked.

"Relax John I'm just helping out don't get sentimental," Sherlock said harshly.

John face hardened but he didn't counter. "Now get the Neosporin," he said stiffly listening as Sherlock obliged, "And put some on a band aid before sticking it on." It was a few seconds before John felt the cool touch of Sherlock's fingers pressing the thing to his head. John winced a bit hissing through his teeth.

"Apologies," Sherlock mumbled his fingers lightly stroking the band aid into place. The doctor opened his eyes Sherlock's face was inches from his own eyes fixed on his hands on the John's head.

"I thinks it's on there now," John teased staring at Sherlock's face. The detective's eyes flickered to his their breath mingled in the short distance between their faces.

"Just don't want it falling off," Sherlock breathed his eyes darted down at John's lips before returning to the shorter man's eyes.

"Any other wounds needing attention?" John whispered not wanting the spell to be broken.

Sherlock glanced at John's lips again "Only one," he replied holding his breath. Sherlock's finger's suddenly breathed the edge of John's mouth sending little stings through his body.

"Split lip," Sherlock added a finger slowly stroking the wound.

John winced grabbing the younger man's hand "Peroxide is about all we can do for that," he told him keeping a grip on Sherlock's hand making the man work with the other. The slight burn of the antibacterial somehow heightened John's senses, arousing him briefly.

"Better?" Sherlock asked his voice barely above a whisper.

John nodded "Definitely won't bleed out now," he joked seeing a smile on the other man's face.

Sherlock put the stuff back in the kit setting it on the floor beside their feet but he didn't move from his spot as he looked back to John. The doctor still held the younger man's hand tightly in his own.

"John," Sherlock began but was silenced by John's mouth. The kiss was soft and tentative John pulled away seconds later very embarrassed "Excuse me! I...don't know what came over me," He stammered dropping Sherlock's hand like it was on fire.

John went to move like he was leaving but Sherlock's hand flew out stilling the other man. John's face was radiating excess heat and was very red "John," Sherlock spoke quietly his voice in a tone John had never heard.

John raised his eyes slowly to the consulting detective's expecting anger and disgust, or nothing at all. What he found was astonishing Sherlock's eyes glowed, pupils were blown wide with intense arousal and his mouth was quivering with restraint "Why?' he asked eyes searching the doctor's face.

John took a deep breath, he had been preparing for this conversation for many months. "I…I… have feelings for you Sherlock…more than platonic feelings," he replied Sherlock didn't react his eyes stayed on John's face.

"Aren't you always saying 'I'm not gay'?" Sherlock asked John sighed relaxing slightly.

"I'm not gay Sherlock. Never in my life have I ever felt attracted to any man but you….you…are…well…you're you." He spoke his voice shook knowing that that didn't really explain it. Sherlock was incredible yet so infuriating at the same time though John never wanted it to change.

"I feel this pull to you and your most annoying qualities I find are the ones I like the best," John said hopping it might clarify a bit. Sherlock continued staring leaning in very slowly. John watched the other man draw closer and closer until their lips met again.

This new kiss was a test John could feel Sherlock running an experiment in his head deciding if there was a spark of interest. As the kiss deepened and Sherlock's hands found new perches on John's body it seemed the man had concluded his interest. John's heart flew, a hand finding its way into the detective's ebony curls. A vibrating moan escaped Sherlock's mouth causing John to chuckle against his mouth.

The younger man pulled away glaring "What?" he snapped, he looked a little hurt.

John shook his head barely keeping down a laugh "It's nothing really," he answered Sherlock narrowed his eyes causing John's laughter to escape, "Fine I just never thought I would hear that coming from you." He told the younger man.

Sherlock watched John for a moment before his face turned into a seductive smile surprising John even further "I do make other noises as well," he growled raising an eyebrow. John's mouth dropped open and Sherlock took to opportunity to swoop in capturing the other man's lips.

"You are insane!" John muttered between kisses.


	6. Love Sick

*I'm sick and needed a pick-me-up so I wrote this little thing! I don't feel better but I'm happy with this fluff!

As a side note: HOLY CRAP! OVER TWO THOUSAND VIEWS! That's awesome thanks guys for reading!

**1st person P.O.V: Sherlock**

The flat was quiet. I couldn't hear anything the silence pressing in on me, normally I enjoyed this time. I would drift in and out of my mind palace organizing and deleting unwanted memories but this silence was uncanny and eerie.

Why was that?

Oh yes my flat mate, the ever loyal Dr. John Hamish Watson.

Where was he?

I glance towards the clock, ten and he wasn't up yet.

How odd.

John was a creature of habit and woke around eight-thirty every morning but today it seemed he had changed?

Unlikely…

He wasn't the type. No there was something wrong but why did I care? He wasn't up, so what? I had this time to be alone and I could do what I liked without interruption. Not that that had stopped me any other time.

But that little doctor had wormed his way into my thoughts and I couldn't shake the slight worry growing in my stomach. It was uncomfortable! When did I start feeling this fondness and emotion?

I was a sociopath for crying out loud! High-functioning yes, but still a sociopath!

Sigh well might as well go and check on him, hopefully he's not dead that would be a pain.

Pulling myself from my chair was a slow process it seemed I had spent the night perched in my seat and now my muscles were protesting loudly. Ignoring the irritating pain I hobbled into the kitchen, the floor boards creaking under my weight. A distant cough from the stairs told me that the doctor was indeed still in bed.

Coughing?

Climbing the stairs my body loosened and the pain lessened into annoying throbs. John's door was closed. Pausing at the door I contemplated retuning to the living room and leaving John to whatever he was doing. Another cough sounded from beyond the door sparking concern and curiosity in me.

Damn my curious nature!

Grabbing the doorknob I turned it, knocking as I opened it "John?" I called into the dim room. The curtains were drawn blocking most of the light from the sun though lit it enough that I could make out the body of John on his bed still wrapped tightly in a blanket.

"John?" I tried again moving into the room.

"Sherlock," an answer came, the voice that came from the bed was far from John's usual warm tone. This noise was a cracked, scratchy whisper that sent the huddled form on the bed into a fit of coughing.

Closing in on the bed I found the doctor's head peeking out from the covers "What is wrong John?" I asked. I was far from an expert when it came to other people. John, being the exception to the rule, was the only one I would even bother with and something was wrong with him.

"Sick," he croaked from the covers.

Sick?!

He was a doctor, how had he gotten sick? Illness was tedious and boring, it was the only time I was truly aware of my body's weaknesses. Sigh, how did it not know that as a vessel to my genius being sick was unacceptable? Enough…John was the one sick not me.

Reaching a hand forward I located John' forehead, it burned against my skin. My cool touch made a moan escape the doctor, the sound startled me and I pulled back afraid I had somehow done something not good. John made a protesting noise "You're cold," it wasn't an insult he was talking about my hand.

"What do I do John?" I questioned, I needed my blogger healthy even if I meant I was the one to make him healthy. "I've never done this before." I confessed.

"Water," John breathed waving fingers towards an empty glass on the night stand.

Not needing any more instruction I grabbed up the glass and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. With ice and water in the glass I returning back up to John. I had to help lift the doctor's head and held the glass to his chapped lips while he drained it.

"Better." John sighed, the croak greatly diminished from his voice. I went back down the stairs to fill the glass again before returning to the side of the bed. Placing the full glass on the side table I stood by watching the doctor.

"What else John?" I needed to know. I felt so helpless! Was there nothing I could give him to speed this process up?

John rolled over to face me, he shivered under the covers. "Soup would be nice but don't worry about it." He replied but I was already out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

Soup? Where would soup be?

Checking the cupboards I came up with nothing that even resembled soup. Mrs. Hudson might have some, she went shopping yesterday.

I dashed through the flat and down the stairs. I didn't bother knocking when I came to the landlady's door. I knew this place and went straight for the kitchen. Searching through the food pantry and cupboards I didn't hear Mrs. Hudson enter.

"Sherlock! What on Earth are you doing?" she chided but didn't attempt to stop me.

Good old Mrs. Hudson!

"Isn't it obvious?" I asked her pushing stacks of cans aside as I looked for soup.

"No dear,"

"I'm hunting for soup Mrs. Hudson. We have nothing close to soup upstairs," was my irritated response. Mrs. Hudson drew closer and went over to the furthest cupboard from me and opened it up, gesturing to the cans within.

"Why soup? Is it an experiment?"

I withheld my frustration. She of course didn't know John was sick but that fact didn't stop me from feeling irritated. "John has come down with an illness and he said soup is nice." I told her searching over the cans.

"Oh Sherlock! That's lovely of you, just let me know if there is anything I can do and tell John to get better soon." The elderly woman said leaving me to my hunt.

Chicken noddle, was that good for sick people? Had I heard that somewhere? Whatever, it will do.

Grabbing out a few cans of the soup, I quickly yelled my thanks to Mrs. Hudson before racing back upstairs.

**Remove soup contents from can into a small pan,**

Alright done, next?

**Heat to a boil stirring frequently**,

Frequently? How frequently? Bloody can! Why can't you be a little more specific in your cooking instructions!

Reading the label of the soup was a waste of my time. In the end, the task seemed a little simpler then I initially thought. With the soup steaming and in a bowl, I climbed the stairs back to John's room.

John looked to be dozing but stirred when I entered. He stared at me with complete shock on his face "You made me soup?" he asked I glared huffing in his direction.

"There is a bowl of soup in my hands John! Of course I made it! Even a small brain like yours can figure that one out" I didn't mean to snap but it was my natural response.

John smiled at me and began pushing himself up, groaning against the headboard from the effort. Setting the bowl in his lap, I watched as he attempted to eat. His hands were shaking and he seemed to be having trouble gripping the spoon.

After several tries I made a decision. Stepping over John's legs, I plopped myself on the bed beside him "Here let me," I offered taking up the soup bowl and proceeded to feed the doctor.

He gaped at me but opened his mouth as I held up the spoon.

When the bowl was empty I set it next to the glass on the side table and settled back against the headboard. John stared over at me and continued to do so for some time. I ignored him, bringing my fingers up and steepled them pretending to go to my mind palace but it became obvious that he was thinking and loudly.

Dropping my hands I turned to look at him. He was definitely thinking and rather hard about it. Scanning him I deduced he was uncomfortable (stiff posture, slightly leaning away from me), conflicted with what he was feeling (biting his lip), it had to do with me (staring at me), but illness was making thinking difficult (the frown and narrowing of his eyes).

I huffed watching the thoughts die in his eyes with my noise. "Stop thinking John. You're sick just lay down and relax." Without really thinking I grabbed him gently by the back of his neck and pulled him until his head was cradled in my lap. John's tensed (uncomfortable) so I began running my fingers through his hair hoping that would help him settle.

After a few minutes it did. John sighed and his body sank into mine. The heat from his forehead scorched my thigh and his hair was slightly sweaty from fever but I didn't mind. The weight of John against was surprisingly soothing. I could feel his heart beat and his breathing. I felt a part of the doctor and it was thrilling. I had never felt a part of another person.

Wait! Slow down! Where had that come from? John was my friend and flat mate! Plus he always stated 'I'm not gay' and another thing I am married to my _work_! I don't need any _distractions_!

Was John really a distraction and wasn't he a part of the _work_?

I faltered.

John was indeed a part of the work. He was my blogger and companion. How many times had he helped solve a case (not that I would admit that out loud)? How many times had he saved me? Countless times…

My hand was now moving on autopilot through John's hair and his breathing had slowed announcing he had succumbed to sleep. My mind drifted to the palace.

Walking the elegant halls I navigated my way to the John room. It was a library with books filled with John information, here and there were frozen moments of memory. Still copies of John stood in varies places, him laughing and smiling, angry and yelling. It was my own wax museum of John.

Just seeing the memory fragments something stirred in the pit of my stomach.

What was that? Am I sick as well?

Doubtful.

I pushed those thoughts away as I scanned the room. This was the part of my palace I visited often it was a comfortable and a warm escape from boredom. Why was that? Never in my life had I ever found this peace that I felt with John.

What was I feeling?

John was my friend, my first real friend. Sure I had Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson but none of them had ever gotten as close to me as John had. Lestrade was a good man who had potential (another thing I would never say aloud) but he was more like a father figure, a friend at a distance as was Molly (a younger sister). Mrs. Hudson was a motherly figure and Mycroft…where could I start with my dear brother? Why bother.

John, John on the other hand. How to begin with John?

When I first saw him at Bart's he had been any other man but he quickly became an exquisite human being, one which I had never had the pleasure of meeting before. He had killed a man for me not even twenty-four hours after meeting me! He was special but what did I feel for him?

I needed to start with a physical aspect.

Just smelling John's natural scent (freshly baked bread and book leather) increased my heart rate but so did most things the man did. Hearing his voice, his laugh, seeing him smile, watching him make tea and read those stupid crime novels. John was a river of interest and I never tired of watching the man whatever he was doing. Whenever I entered a room my eyes went automatically to John to note his reaction. My body grew cold with fear if I ever thought about John leaving.

So my body had a physically response to the man, now for an emotional aspect.

I had begun monitoring my words, not wanting to upset the blogger with my outright insults. I wanted John to be happy so I went out of my way to make him laugh. When he had nightmares I would play my violin because I knew that it would calm him down. When his fingers brushed my skin I felt a thrill go through me. On cases when John blurted out compliments, his praise made me giddy (yes giddy)!

So emotional response was strong,

John accepted me full-heartedly and didn't think of me as a freak or abnormal. He did think of me as an emotionless machine at times but he somehow still understood me better than anyone ever had.

Sounds like love.

Wait…what?! Love? I scoffed but became confused.

Love.

That word seemed to be the only thing that fit, that felt remotely right.

I love John.

Wow those words felt weird!

I love John? I love John…

Brotherly love?

I shook my head, doubt most family members wanted to snog each other senseless so I would go with the latter. I loved John as a lover, a partner, a boyfriend?

How juvenile!

Partner, I love John as a partner.

I snapped out of my mind palace almost without warning. John was still asleep in my lap and my hand continued through John's hair. I watched over him a tightness creeping into my chest, had that been there before? What would I do now? I wouldn't become some uni girl pinning after some guy. Well John wasn't some guy! He was John, sweet, gentle, understanding John.

And not gay…

Sigh human error. This was another moment I would classify as a time I became aware of my body's weaknesses.

John wasn't a _weakness_!

This was true I never felt safer until I met John. He was the human side of me and I couldn't fight it.

"Sher…lock…" John mumbled in his sleep snuggling deeper into my lap.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. Leaning over I kissed his head lightly, taking in a deep breath inhaling the John scent. No John wasn't a weakness nor a distraction he was a part of me and no matter what I would keep my better half safe and happy.

"Sherlock?"

The croaking voice of John's woke me. I hadn't even realized I had fallen asleep. I even felt refreshed as I opened my eyes. John's head was still in my lap but he had rolled to look up at me, the room was darker indicating that it was most likely evening. In the dimness I could barely make out John's face.

Suddenly warm fingers touched my face, uncertainty etched into the touch "How are you feeling?" I asked leaning into the touch slightly. John hummed in my lap, the sound vibrating through me. The fingers disappeared leaving warm patches on my face.

"I'm hungry," he mused the croak in his voice was better.

I smiled in the darkness "Then budge up and let me go get something for you to eat," I said shifting my legs. John giggled and sat up, his hair brushed against my face.

I hurried through making the soup reusing both the pan and bowl from earlier (what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him). Once again I feed John and settled on the bed with John in my lap without any prodding though the light on the night stand had been turned on.

The yellowish light showed that John's natural tan was gone replaced by paleness from being sick. I touched his cheek "I prefer the tan," I told him. He was looking up at me with a small smile.

"I can't help getting sick." John murmured.

I trailed my fingers to his forehead and laid my palm against the skin. John closed his eyes clearly enjoying my cool skin "You're not as warm," I spoke quietly moving my hand to slide it through his hair.

"My fever broke while you were sleeping," John said opening his eyes again.

I watched the emotions playing through his pupils. I realized seeing the filtering emotions that John was struggling with something. I had noticed it earlier, seeing it again I couldn't help but deduce the look.

Dilated eyes (strong physically reaction), increased heart rate (nervous, not uncomfortable), relaxed form and flushed skin (though that could be from the illness). I didn't know I couldn't figure it out. "John what are you thinking?"

John looked me over slowly his body tensing against mine as he prepared his answer "I'm curious about you Sherlock," that didn't surprise me, "I've lived with you long enough to think I know you but then you do something like this," he gestured to our particular arrangement, "it's so uncharacteristic! It makes me think I don't know you at all."

I considered his words thinking about how to respond. Why not try honesty? I'm usually painfully honest but not when it was my emotions. I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

"John," his name on my lips was delicious. John locked his eyes on mine, "You are the only one who knows me, the real me. No one has ever been closer than you." The pale sick look of John's skin brightened as it tinted red, "I'm not one for emotions. I keep them in check and hide them away but you see them unlike anyone else. You understand and accept me even when I am difficult. You are the only one who has never left…"

"I've done a lot of thinking and I think I understand now…I think I know what I am feeling." John seemed to hold his breath watching me speak, "You are a part of me John. You being sick I feel lost and helpless, I've never felt like this. A simple touch from you and I feel a burst of energy, seeing you smile I want to keep you smiling, hearing your laugh I want to keep making you laugh. It's thrilling knowing I have made you happy for at least a moment." The look on John's face was glorious his eyes were wide with disbelief and…hope?

"I want to keep you safe, happy, and healthy."

I'm nervous, why am I nervous?

Would John refuse me?

Would he want to just stay friends or would he leave?

No…?

John pushed himself up, turning his whole body towards me. He didn't touch me and I didn't touch him. John hovered in front of me eyes seeking. Slowly John's hand came up cupping my cheek I shivered with the simple touch. It was undeniable I truly and absolutely loved this man with every part of my being.

Surging forward I kissed him.

Our lips joined for a moment before John jerked back "Sherlock!" he gasped and for a moment I thought I had ruined everything, "You're going to get sick doing that." Those words excited me. John hadn't rejected me and he even held concern for my well-being.

"I don't care," I told him moving forward again to kiss him lightly.

The kiss stole the air from my lungs and it seemed John's as well when he moved back in a fit of coughing. "Sorry," I mumbled stretching behind him for the glass of water.

John took it gratefully "Its fine," he assured lacing our fingers together. Setting the glass on the side table again, he returned to lay on my lap looking up at me. He smiled, chuckling quietly.

"What?" I asked curious about his thoughts, stroking my thumb slowly over his skin.

John reached up his free hand brushing hair from my face "If I had known this was going to happen I would have gotten sick sooner." I chuckled kissing him on the forehead.

"Now that it has my dear doctor," I told him, "you're not allowed to get sick again."

John laughed and it made my smile grow on my face finally feeling like a complete human being with my hand connected with that of my blogger's.

*Can I have a Sherlock come and cuddle me since I'm sick? No? ok...'sigh' fine I'll just have to get better alone. Please Review! It lets me know that I should add more one-shots! Thanks and I hope no one else is sick.


	7. Love Sick Part 2

* Wrote this for one of my favorite reviewers and writers **Truly Sherlockian**! Thanks for the suggestion and hope you enjoy! Update: I'm over my bout of sickness!

**Part 2**

"JJJJAAAWWWNNN!"

I withheld the laughter at the pitiful nasally yell "Yeah I coming, hold up!" I called from the kitchen.

Sherlock was sick (surprise) and it was up to me to deal with it. I had warned him and now looked where we had ended up. I thought of him as a five year old before, it now had escalated tenfold. Sherlock was rather terrible with illness.

It had surprised me when just the week before Sherlock had morphed into the most caring person I had ever seen. I had been sick myself, instead of shutting down and leaving me alone Sherlock had taken the reins in getting me healthy. Not only had he done that but Sherlock had finally come to terms with how he felt about me!

"Jawn!" came the voice again, sounding desperate.

I rolled my eyes smiling as I grabbed up the mugs with fresh tea and hiked up to my room where Sherlock had taken refuge. I moved through my bedroom into the steamy bathroom.

"You were the one who insisted I take a bath then you leave me!" Sherlock snapped though the words were a little muddled by the congestion built up in the skinny man's chest. Sherlock lay mostly submerged in the tub with a small inflatable bath pillow supporting his head above the water.

I held up the mugs in surrender "Tea is good when you're sick," I offered setting the cups on the sink counter and looking at the pale man in my tub.

He was naked though that was typical for someone in a tub full of water but this someone was Sherlock bloody Holmes!

My love, my newly revealed lover.

Before my illness I held back hidden feelings for my flat mate but the first day I'm sick and seeing Sherlock's reaction intensified those feelings. Luckily for me Sherlock had his own feelings that he had yet to realize. Now here we were in a new relationship and I was looking forward to our future together.

"Stop staring at me!" Sherlock snapped though his voice sounded amused.

I rolled my eyes tearing them from the magnificent body barley obscured by the water "Drink some tea," I urged grabbing one of the cups.

Sherlock frowned, batting his eye lashes at me wanting to protest but I wouldn't give. Doctor mode was in full gear and I was a little stronger during this time and able to resist Sherlock.

"Fine," the man growled taking the cup and bringing it to his lips, "thank you." I heard him muttered before taking a drink. Smiling I leaned in and kissed his brow as a sort of reward.

Kneeling down beside the tub I grabbed up the cup that was floating nearby and filled it with water. Bringing the cup up I poured it slowly over Sherlock's exposed chest, drenching it in steaming water. Sherlock sighed closing his eyes and letting a small smile stretch across his face.

I chuckled as I watched this reaction "Like that?" I asked as I did it again.

Sherlock purred shifting lower into the tub "I should be sick more often."

"And why is that?" I asked repeatedly pouring water over his chest.

Sherlock cracked an eye at me "I like when you take care of me."

I snorted flicking water at his face "I always take care of you, you over grown toddler!"

Sherlock glared half-heartedly then began pouting. I laughed flicking more water at him "If you don't stop that I'm not going to wash your hair." I threatened watching as he perked up.

For some odd reason Sherlock loved it when I washed his hair. I had noticed over the months that Sherlock had a sensitive scalp with brief touches when he had gotten himself injured during cases. The first few days of our relationship we had ended up in the shower together (not what you think!) and I washed his hair.

The moment my fingers ran through those luscious curls the man had collapsed into me, boneless. Eventually I had to lower him to the shower floor to finish washing his hair, laughing the entire time. Now any time his head was at the right level I took the opportunity to touch those raven curls and watch him crumple into a beautiful mess.

Sherlock looked longing at me with wide eyes "Please," he breathed and I chuckled at the whimpering request.

"Sit up," I said pushing myself higher on my knees.

Sherlock scrambled to sit up and sliding closer to me, angling his head for easier access, shaking my head I reached for the shampoo behind him. Pouring a generous amount in to my hands I began rubbing into his hair. Within seconds he slumped into my chest instantly soaking my shirt. Snorting I kept slowly kneading my hands into his scalp.

"That…feels…good!" Sherlock hummed nuzzling his face into my wet shirt. Soggy fingers drifted under my shirt dotting my stomach with wet trails as the hand started roaming.

My breath hitched and my fingers jerked with the new invasion "Sherlock…" I gasped as the fingers moved further and further up my chest. Sherlock purred against me, his nose digging into me and inhaling deeply.

I pulled my hands from him getting loud cries of protest. The sick man's head titled up to look at me with questioning eyes. I gave him a stern look "If you're not going to play fair I'm not going to wash your hair." I warned.

"You already used that threat," Sherlock pointed out, "not very intimidating the second time."

I narrowed my eyes "I'll make you go sleep in your own bed alone," I told him, "how's that for a threat?"

Sherlock frowned shaking his head smiling at my attempt "I know you better than that John and there is nothing that you can say that will scare me."

I glared thinking quickly before a smile spread across my face. It wasn't my usual easy-going smile but a wicked one that spoke of dastardly thoughts. Sherlock's face fell and I forced back my triumph at the reaction knowing that the man was trying to deduce my thoughts.

"John," Sherlock stammered.

I leaned closer to his face, ours noses touching "If you don't play nice William Sherlock Scott Holmes," I paused letting his full name hang in the air, "I will put conditioner in your hair and not wash it out."

Sherlock's eye widened and his mouth fell open.

I had learned that the one thing Sherlock hated the most in the world was conditioner that hadn't been washed out of his hair.

His mouth opened and closed several times, his hands slid slowly away from me. Grinning I brought my hands back to his hair and began working the suds into his scalp.

"You are cruel doctor," Sherlock finally murmured his face relaxing and his eyes falling shut.

Chuckling I kissed his cheek "And you love it," I said receiving a lazy smile.

When Sherlock's head was nothing but suds I told him to move down. He obeyed, lowering his head into the water keeping his face above the surface. I slowly rubbed the shampoo from his hair filling the water with soap.

"Can I get out now or do you wish to manhandle me some more?" Sherlock asked irritated once he was up right, "I already washed myself while you were wasting time in the kitchen."

I rolled my eyes at him and pushed myself to my feet. My knees popped loudly and the muscles in my calves protested, I groaned with pain "I'm getting too old for this," I muttered rubbing the soreness, "Yes, you can get out my big baby and I wasn't manhandling you!" I added grabbing up a towel from the rack and holding it out for him.

Sherlock stood and I politely looked away as he took the towel.

"I hope you won't do that every time I'm naked around you," the taller man said as he dried himself with the towel. I glanced at him noting the slow way he rubbed the towel on his skin. He was doing it on purpose!

Feeling heat in my face I turned to go to the bedroom "Sherlock you are sick!" I told him over my shoulder mostly trying to remind myself.

The key was to get Sherlock healthy and extra-curricular activities wouldn't help. I was resisting the urge to snog Sherlock senseless and other things of course but I was a doctor! My lover's health was more important than his libido! Or mine!

I needed to concentrate on getting Sherlock some pants and then getting him in to bed (not like that!) so that he would maybe get some sleep. Lord knows the man doesn't get enough.

Grabbing a clean pair of Sherlock's pants from my drawer I headed back to the bathroom. So not only had Sherlock invaded my room but he had snuck up several pairs of clothes and added them to my drawers. It was nice so I wouldn't have to go downstairs to get him fresh things but on the other hand it annoyed me that he didn't ask (not that he normally would).

"Here put those on and get to bed." I instructed throwing in my captains voice so there was no room for argument.

Sherlock smiled fondly at me, dropped the towel to the ground and took the underwear from me. I held my eyes firmly to his face for a second longer before turning back to the bedroom. He could play his games but I wouldn't allow myself to fall for them (hopefully).

I checked for water on the nightstand (three water bottles) and climbed on to the bed feeling my own exhaustion getting the better of me. I lay back against the headrest and yawned. Stretching my arms above my head I felt the cracking of my joints and muscles and hummed as I relaxed into the bed.

I sat dozing until the jarring of a new weight on the mattress announced the arrival of the other man. Cracking an eye I found Sherlock's face rather close to mine. He smiled and leaned in enough to brush his lips against mine "Aren't I the one who is supposed to be sleeping?" he teased.

A week ago this playful side of Sherlock would have stunned me and at times it still did but I was too tired to respond too much.

"You are," I replied, "but you won't." and I knew it was true. Sherlock would go weeks without proper sleep until he was nearly dead with exhaustion and that wouldn't change just because of illness.

Sherlock winked at me before pressing firmly into my lips, giving me a proper kiss. I had to pull back just to keep things from getting too heated barely remembering Sherlock needed to be healthy before we got too physical.

Lacing a hand through Sherlock's hair as we kissed I jerked his face from mine "Lay down and get some sleep so you can get better." I commanded with a growl, kissing him once more and letting go of his hair.

Sherlock chuckled as he pushed me to lie down. When I has horizontal He laid his head on my shoulder and wrapped his arms around my chest. Sherlock tangled our legs together, nuzzling closer to my body. Chuckling at the man's antics I pulled my arm around him and started stroking my back slowly hoping to lull him to sleep.

As we sat in the content silence I noticed Sherlock's warm forehead pressed to my chest. Using my free hand I touched his skin feeling the radiating heat coming from it. "You have a fever," I muttered lowering my hand to stroke his cheek.

Sherlock made a whining noise, kissing my chest "Heat from the bath water," he tried but I knew the difference.

"You need to sleep," I urged, yawning.

Sherlock rolled his head to look at me, his chin resting on my chest. I could see the fever in his eyes. "You need to sleep as well." He pointed out sticking out his tongue.

I smiled brushing some hair from his face marveled that I could actually do that. "I'll sleep if you sleep." I offered knowing exactly what his next words would be.

"You'll fall asleep regardless." I stunned myself at how well I knew my flat mate as the words came out of his mouth.

I shrugged "So it's a win, win situation."

Sherlock frowned "No, I don't want to go to sleep." He was stubborn I'll give him that.

"And why not?"

"I might miss out."

I blinked at him unsure of what he was saying "Miss out on what?" I asked curious what Sherlock was thinking.

The taller man stared hard at me, I knew he was committing my face to memory so what he was about to say was important to him.

"On you…"

I didn't know how to respond to those words. I know that Sherlock had never had anyone close to him and being in a relationship with me was new, even our friendship from the start was a blimp for Sherlock. Those words coming from that man's mouth was incredible and I couldn't find the right thing to say.

So I didn't speak. Leaning forward I kissed him deeply. I tried to pour all my love for him into the simple yet not so simple gesture. Sherlock needed to understand in any way I could show him that I wouldn't leave him, that what we have isn't easily broken, and that he had become my whole world. This kiss was the start to how I could show him.

Letting the kiss last several minutes I reluctantly pulled away pressing my forehead to the Sherlock's feverish one. We were panting slightly from the intensity of the kiss and I even had my eyes closed holding on to the feeling the touch had given me.

When our breathing slowed I opened my eyes, locking on to the ever color changing orbs. "Sherlock," I smiled. He was so…human at times when before he was closer to a robot, "I'm not going anywhere without you, never, ever again." I promised hoping that I wouldn't have to break that vow.

Sherlock watched me a smile slowly stretching across his face "I love you John Watson." He finally said.

My face was starting to hurt from how wide my smile was, a bubbling excitement in my chest was threatening to boil over. "I love you too Sherlock Holmes."

We looked at each a few seconds longer. The first declaration of love and it was perfect. Soon we drifted off to sleep together, wrapped tightly around one another and absolutely content. This was the moment, this was the time we were truly one.


	8. Realizing Fears

*So this one took a little more time to write due to the fact that I needed a certain feeling to actually get it out how I wanted it and that I've been happily busy with classes. Only a few more weeks until break. Any who prepare for feels and enjoy this snippet. *Additional note: OMG 3,000 VIEWS! *incoherent noises* Thanks everyone and I hope I don't disappoint!*

_Here we go again!_

Dr. John Watson sighed watching the murderer sprint off, "Why do they always run?" he moaned pulling out his gun as he raced after the man.

_We're not even supposed to be here!_

John groaned seeing the murderer hurry around a corner ahead of him.

_Sherlock is such an idiot!_

Sherlock bloody Holmes and his stupid need to show off! They would be hearing from Greg Lestrade later yet again for taking police matters into their own hands. How on earth did Sherlock always rope John into chasing the baddies?

_Oh yes I'm a danger junkie and I need my fix!_

It was true. John loved running after the criminals of London and he wouldn't be changing any time soon. He loved the mundane at times but too much and he was half tempted to shot the walls. John smirked, wouldn't Sherlock be proud! He is such a bad influence.

_Where is Sherlock?_

Sherlock and John had split up when they reached the warehouse where the murder had been hiding. The place was filled with boxes stacked together to tower dangerously and it would have taken too long to find their suspect so it was logical to separate and search. John hated it! If Sherlock was alone John couldn't protect him.

_He is lost without his blogger!_

John mused turning the corner where the murderer had gone. The man had disappeared! Shit, well what now? John slowed to a jog glancing in between boxes and crates. The place was a maze with way too many places to hide. John held his gun up alert for anything, solider mode was fully engaged.

Coming up on a corner John paused before looking around. A loud bang as a gun fired and bit of wood from a box near his head made him jerk back. Taking in a deep breath John brought his gun around and fired off a few shoots. The murder answered, he was terrible shot, John gladly noted. Sliding forward he managed another look. A black heel was all he saw as the fleeing man took off again.

Giving a growl John pushed forward not wanting the man to get too far away. Making it over to where his target has been, the doctor just caught sight of the man going around another corner. "Bastard," John muttered tiring of this chase. Next chance he got he was just going to shoot the murderer.

Hurrying to the latest corner, John was happy to see that he had entered a long straight passage. The murderer was running just ahead and making slow progress. The running man wasn't fast so the doctor knew that this was his chance in catching him. John started sprinting, pushing his short legs harder. As he drew closer he prepared himself knowing a flying tackle was about to happen.

Inches from the murderer John launched himself forward colliding with the man just as a gunshot was fired. Landing heavily on the ground, John began struggling with the killer. Surprisingly the man was a little strong and agile, he was able to roll and pin John under him.

The doctor brought his arms up to block some of the hits but still felt his lip split when a blow jarred his teeth. Ignoring the pain John surprised the murderer by bucking his hips, throwing his attacker off balance. Taking the opportunity the ex-solider rolled dislodging the other man. Pushing away from him, John got to his feet. The murderer was already there and searching for the forgotten guns.

John pressed forward grabbing the other man's attention. The doctor dodged the first punch and landing his own on the man's chin. The attacker was a little skilled and quickly recovered with a kick to the shine catching John off guard which was followed by a hit to the side of the head. Being forced back, panting, John shock his head to rid himself of his blurred vision.

When the world was clear once again, John locked on the murderer and approached again quickly. As the man threw a punch John slid sideways grabbing the arm that went by. Holding the offending arm tightly John spun, pushing his body into the murderer's. Jerking his elbow back breaking the killer's nose and spurting blood all over the place, spinning again John jerked the arm around and flipped the other man to the ground, throwing his own weight down on top.

The murderer gasped for air until John found his gun and hit him in the temple, knocking the man unconscious. Panting from exertion John managed to find the zip ties he kept in his pocket and tied the murderer's hands together. Looking down at the criminal John smiled which pulled on his sore lip "Ouch," he murmured touching the spot.

Dragging his eyes from the fallen man John called "Sherlock!" tucking his gun into his waist band and turning from the unconscious murderer as he went to look for the missing detective.

A dark crumpled form at the end of the passage stopped John. The unmoving figure was horrifyingly familiar and the distant thumping of John's heart echoed in his ears. He was frozen in disbelief. The gunshot the murderer had gotten off as John tackled him came to mind.

"Sherlock!" John screamed racing forward.

Sliding to his knees next to Sherlock's still body, John yanked him over. The pale man had blood on his face and his eyes were closed but he was breathing. John's mind was whirling, yelling at the doctor that his friend was still alive. His heart ached and tears were flowing down his face.

"Sherlock wake up! Please wake up! Please don't be dead!" he was saying over and over again.

The still man didn't respond and John buried his face in the man's chest. Whispering and sobbing "Don't be dead, don't be dead!" The soft beat of Sherlock's heart was the only thing keeping John stable at the moment and he hugged his friend closer so he wouldn't miss the comforting noise.

Past memories of war flooded to John's mind. The smell of blood and heat boiled in the air around the doctor. Broken and dying men, ones that John had tried and failed to save rushed through his mind. He remembered them each by name, dozens and dozens of men and women, even children. Dust and wind stinking of blood, it was a waking nightmare and not one that he could escape from.

"John…" Sherlock's broken voice finally sounded.

John's face was now dry and his heart skipped a beat upon hearing the voice. Jerking his head up from his friend's chest, the doctor looked into the unfocused eyes of Sherlock. There was a definite concussion haze lingering in the younger man's eyes but John was just relieved that he was alive!

"Sherlock!" John cried tightening his hold on the other man, "Thank God you're alive!"

Sherlock winced slightly a hand coming up to touch his forehead gingerly. "My head hurts," he whined.

John let out a nervous chuckle, his nerves still vibrating from his scare. "A shot to the head will do that to you," as the words left his mouth he once again froze.

The bullet grazed Sherlock's head, one little centimeter and Sherlock wouldn't be here! He wouldn't be breathing! Sherlock had almost died, it wasn't the first time but it was damn near the closest the genius had come to being six feet under! John felt his chest tighten. He had almost lost Sherlock…Sherlock would have been gone…

"John," Sherlock's voice brought the older man from his thoughts. Cool fingers probed the doctor's face, touching the split lip slightly.

John hissed through his teeth at the twinge of pain. "You are hurt," Sherlock stated his brows knitted together staring tensely at the other man.

John slowly released his grip on Sherlock "You are hurt worse," the doctor pointed out leaning closer to examine the blood covered wound just above Sherlock's ear.

It was hard to see but he could tell that it wasn't bleeding anymore and wasn't very deep.. John suspected that the concussion had come from when Sherlock had hit the floor face first so mice little bruise on the taller man's forehead would be visible later.

"You were crying." Sherlock stated a finger touching John's cheek.

The words were slow and it almost sounded like a question. The concussion had morphed the genius into somewhat of a normal person it seemed.

Taking his eyes away from the wound John found Sherlock's. The doctor's heart slowed "I thought you were dead," his voice came out in a broken whisper.

Sherlock's eyes widened, various unreadable things flashed through the orbs. "John, I…" a loud crashing sound behind them announced Lestrade's arrival.

Slowly standing John's legs protested but he ignored it while he helped Sherlock stand. Sliding an arm under Sherlock's the doctor supported the unsteady man. Greg, followed by a squad of men rushed towards them.

"Why am I not surprised?" the D.I. shouted looking irritated.

John still felt the remnants of shock and couldn't manage a smile but Sherlock even with a concussion couldn't remain quiet "Garth, took your time getting here!" his voice snapped as he leaned against John.

Greg glared, letting out a heavy sigh "It's Greg and what happened to you?" he asked looking the two over.

"I got shot," Sherlock answered before glancing over at John, "and he beat up a murderer."

Lestrade's eyes widened and his mouth opened "God are you two alright?" he questioned moving closer.

Sherlock glared at the D.I. "It's nothing John can't handle now we are going home and we will stop by the Yard tomorrow for your ridiculous statements." With that the taller man forced John to walk.

The doctor was vaguely aware they were moving again. He was stuck on the potential of Sherlock's death. John felt nauseous just thinking about it. he started feeling lost and disconnected, his emotions were swirling uncontrollable, dragging him slowly down.

Sherlock was the only thing that made John's life worth anything. Running around London with his friend had been the thing that kept the ex-soldier from taking the coward's way out. If John hadn't met Sherlock when he did, God only knows what would have happened.

Sherlock seemed to understand for once that John needed this time to be silent. The taller man just led them to the street to catch a cab. Without much effort a taxi arrived and John was forced into the back.

"You two alright?" the cabbie asked looking more suspicious than concerned.

Sherlock glared "I'll pay you double just get us to Baker Street." He snapped.

The driver huffed but turned back to the wheel and drove off.

They really did look awful. Sherlock had blood dried on his face and splattered all over the once crisp white of his shirt with darkened spots on his scarf. While John had blood as well on him but it was the bruises forming on his face that made everything seem worse.

Sherlock still let John keep his arm around him as they rode in silence. The warmth of the doctor's body pressed next to him was comforting. Sherlock watched the smaller man reading the shock still etched into his face. John had been through much already in his life and Sherlock almost getting killed shouldn't have been too shocking, right?

This was a sentiment thing, Sherlock concluded. John was thinking over the prospect of Sherlock dying and it didn't seem to be sitting well. The genius didn't see why the doctor would care so much if he had indeed died. They had seen hundreds of dead bodies so death wasn't a new thing, why was Sherlock any different?

_Sentiment._

Sherlock's mind was running rather thick at the moment but that seemed to fit. John is a very affectionate person, caring and gentle so it is only fair to say that he would find Sherlock's death a bit not good. The consulting detective cursed the concussion that not only would take him out of commission for a few days but was now causing a steady throbbing headache.

"Headache?" John asked suddenly, his voice in doctor mode.

Sherlock looked to the doctor finding him very close and eyes locked on him. "Yes," the taller man answered. He had lived with John long enough to know the man fairly well but they hadn't spent much time within close proximity and the difference was rather dramatic.

Sherlock could see wrinkles and faint freckles that weren't visible without being this close. The blue of his eyes was much deeper than any ocean almost grey almost like a storm but not dark enough. The slight stubble of a poor shave shadowed his upper lip giving him a slight fuzzy look.

John reached out with his free hand and brushed a few of Sherlock's curls from his face as if the gesture was natural. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly with surprised and held his breath. What was this? Why was his friend doing this? It was almost intimate, more for a lover than a flat mate.

"We'll get you something when we get home." He assured a small sad smile on his lips.

Sherlock eyes weren't right still, the concussion was not severe but it would need a few days of down time to heal. The genius was already acting different and that was another indication of a concussion.

The doctor would do everything within his power to keep the other man from prolonging his injury. John was already thinking of what he would need to do when they reached the flat.

Five minutes went by before the cab stopped. Sherlock paid the cabbie double as promised before the two men climbed out and hurried to 221B.

John didn't drop his arm from Sherlock until he had the tall man sat on the toilet in the bathroom. "Let me get you cleaned up a bit," John told his friend  
pulling the man's coat off along with the blood stained scarf. Sherlock nodded watching the doctor leave.

John hung the coat and scarf along with his own then returned to the bathroom. Rolling up his sleeves John found a washcloth which he ran under water to get wet before he began to clean the blood from Sherlock's face.

"It's not that deep," John assured when the wound was uncovered, it was barely two inches long just over the right ear. "I don't think it will leave a scar."

Sherlock smiled, his eyes held a far off look "Like it never happened."

John lower the cloth "I wish it hadn't." he mumbled before turning and heading up to his room where he grabbed his medical kit.

Back in the bathroom, John bandaged the graze and gave Sherlock something for his headache. "These will make you a bit tired," he warned when the man took the pills.

"I could use some sleep." Sherlock said and his eyes indeed looked close to closing on their own.

John's brows shot up "Really? You're agreeing to sleep?"

Sherlock shrugged "If the medicine is going to make me drowsy anyway and we solved the case." He replied lazily.

John smirked turning to look in the mirror to clean up his own injuries. "Here let me do that," Sherlock suddenly offered stretching out a hand to take the cloth in the doctor's hand.

He turned to stare at Sherlock in shock "What?"

Sherlock hummed impatiently tugging the cloth from John's hand "Let me clean you up a bit," he said grabbing the other man and pulling him closer. John kneeled before Sherlock so he wouldn't have to reach and let him wash the blood off.

"It's not your blood," the supposed genius stated.

John nodded. "I broke the bloke's nose, got his blood all over me." He told him.

Sherlock's face was very close to John's, his eyes focusing on the cloth as it moved around. The tall man got all of the blood he could see off then moved to John's split lip.

John jerked back hissing, "Ouch."

Sherlock suppressed a grin, "Hurts?"

"Great deduction genius," John muttered letting Sherlock clean his lip, wincing a little.

"Thank you," Sherlock said when he had finished sounding serious.

The doctor rose an eyebrow at the sitting man, "You're welcome?"

He was unsure what Sherlock was thanking him for and his friend wasn't looking like he was going to elaborate either.

Sherlock smiled sitting back against the porcelain, "What now doctor?" he asked and it sounded very seductive.

John stared hard at the genius trying to deduce him. It was a rather weak attempt and yielded nothing. "Bed I think," he answered getting slowly to his feet. The muscles in his legs screamed and locked making John fall forward. Banging his knees in to the toilet lid John cried out but was caught by Sherlock.

"You alright?" the other man asked his arms wrapped around his friend.

John nodded rubbing his now painful knees "Just getting old."

Sherlock glared "You are not old John Watson!" The force of the words was surprising.

John blinked at the harshness, "Older than you," He pointed out receiving anther glare.

"That doesn't mean you're old," Sherlock muttered making sure the doctor was steady on his feet before dropping his arms before pouting.

"Come on, you child, let's get you to bed," John said pulling the younger and still pouting man to his feet, "And stop pouting!" he added with a chuckle.

"I am not pouting!" Sherlock argued puffing out his bottom lip even more and crossing his arms over his chest but followed John from the bathroom.

John shook his head and couldn't help but smile. Reaching out a finger the doctor poked the protruding lip "And what do you call this?" he asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as they entered his room, "Fat lip John," It was a lie and they both knew it.

Sherlock's room was surprisingly normal. It wasn't too clean or messy and even had a lived in feeling.

If John didn't know better he would think a normal nearly middle aged man inhabited this room. The tall man surged forward and threw himself on to the comforter. He was smiling widely and sighed heavily, his eyes closed.

John smiled looking over the other man, "You can't sleep yet, you got blood on your clothes." He reminded him.

Sherlock frowned and opened his eyes "Very well." He huffed and began pouting again, "You are just as bad as Mrs. Hudson." He added as he sat up and began unbuttoning his shirt. The process was turning out to be difficult and slow.

John chuckled and stepped forward to help Sherlock unbutton his shirt, "I'm worse, I'm a doctor." He joked.

"My doctor," Sherlock murmured shutting his eyes and letting the other man remove the stained shirt.

Luckily none of the blood had soaked through and Sherlock's chest was a clean, expanse of pale skin that was strangely muscular.

John poked one of the pectorals "Where you get these? I've never seen you work out."

Sherlock looked down at his chest before bringing confused eyes back to John, "I was born with them." He replied.

The doctor laughed, "I'm starting to feel bad that I like you when you have a concussion."

Sherlock was ignoring him as he attempted to unbutton his trousers but like the shirt was proving to be too much. John chuckled shaking his head as he pulled the man's hands away and pushed the younger man down on the bed. Snapping the button open with one hand. Hooking his fingers under Sherlock's waist band he pulled, dragging the pants away leaving the black boxers.

Sherlock suddenly started giggling and John froze watching the other's man rolling back and forth over the covers. This went on for some time until Sherlock was able to control himself. He sat up supporting himself on his forearms wearing that lopsided grin that John loved, "You pulled off my pants."

The doctor couldn't help but laugh throwing the pants over to the blood stained shirt, "Sherlock come on you need sleep."

Sherlock stuck his tongue out before flipping over and crawling up the bed to face plant into a pillow. John managed to get the blanket over his friend patting his shoulder, "I'm going to get you some water."

Sherlock didn't acknowledge him so John got the water and returned to set it on the side table.

Looking down on the stretched out man, the doctor smirked before letting out a heavy sigh, "Good night Sherlock." He said reluctantly heading out of the room.

Sherlock mumbled something into the pillow that made John stop.

Turning back to the room he looked to the other man, "Sorry didn't catch that."

Sherlock turned his head, "Stay with me."

It wasn't a question, it was more like a command but John was happy to oblige. Striping off his own blood stained clothing and throwing it to join the others. Moving to the other side of the bed he slid under the covers.

Sherlock rolled his head to look at him with one eye. "Thank you John." He mumbled.

John grinned, "That's the second time you've said that in the last twenty minutes."

Sherlock shrugged, "I'm just showing my appreciation, aren't I supposed to do that?"

"Well yes but you're Sherlock and that's not what you do." John countered poking the other man in the shoulder.

Sherlock frowned though only seeing the one side turned down was almost comical and John had to fight the smile on his face.

"Why were you sad John?"

The doctor was startled his face falling as he stared at Sherlock.

The lanky man shifted his body on to his side facing John, "Earlier why were you crying?"

The short man bit his cheek hard as the feelings from earlier rushed back in a wave, "I already told you."

Sherlock sighed inching closer, "Yes you thought I was dead but why would that make you sad?"

John sat up glaring, "Are you serious Sherlock?"

The younger man remained on the bed looking up at the doctor. "Yes John I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want an answer."

"Why Sherlock, why is it so damn important to you?" John snapped.

Sherlock returned the heated glare, "I want to know why my life matters to you."

"Christ Sherlock, of all the times to be a sociopath, why can't you understand?!" John growled.

"I think you are missing the point of being a sociopath!"

John turned his whole body to face the man, "What a load of cock!" Sherlock blinked at the statement, "You and I both know that your so called sociopath diagnoses is total shite! How hard is it for you to comprehend that someone might give a damn about you! That someone might actually care whether you live or die!"

As John spoke he drew closer and closer to Sherlock until he hovered over him. Sherlock stared wide eyed at the doctor but he wasn't finished.

"When I thought you were dead, I blamed myself! If you had died it would have been my fault. It's my job to protect you and I couldn't. Today you almost died and your blood would have been on my hands so forgive me for caring!"

"John it wouldn't have been your fault. You wouldn't have been one that pulled the trigger." Sherlock pointed out.

John's eyes hardened further, "Does that matter! Sherlock you are the best friend I've ever had even if you are the biggest pain in my arse! I don't want you to die ok? I don't want to be there when you die! I definitely don't want to witness it!"

" I'm not naïve, I know everyone dies but you…just thinking about you dying makes me sick and I can't Sherlock…I can't go through that, I wouldn't make it through that." John's voice quieted and he sounded close to tears.

"Sherlock I know you don't understand and I know that is why you are asking but when I saw you on the ground with blood leaking from your head I nearly died myself. I couldn't function. I would rather die before I let anything happen to you, so to answer your question I was sad because I can't face the thought of you dying and not being able to do anything about it."

During his rant John had dropped his eyes from Sherlock as the tears welled in his eyes. At the moment John felt less the solider than he had ever been but it was true. Everything he said and it hurt, it was painful. John hated feeling so helpless but when it came to Sherlock there was one thing that was very clear to him. Sherlock was the priority even if he didn't understand.

The silence between them stretched and John shifted embarrassed but determined to remain in the room. Sherlock slowly sat up but John kept his eyes down, avoiding eye contact.

Suddenly Sherlock wrapped around the little doctor burying his face in the crook of John's neck and breathed in deeply. Sherlock was in the doctor's lap with his legs around the other man's waist. Long lanky arms tightened around John's neck as the taller man tucked himself in.

John froze becoming a board against the other man. Sherlock's hair was in his face and smelled faintly of blood. The doctor was utterly stunned by the embrace. In all their months of living together neither had gone so far with anything but the briefest of touches.

Slowly John relaxed and put his arms around the other man. He nuzzled his face into the dark hair taking in the scent of Sherlock and ignoring the blood. The tension flowed out of John and the very much alive man against him was the only proof he needed that they were truly going to be alright.

"Are you sad now?" Sherlock mumbled into John's neck.

The doctor let out a low chuckle squeezing his friend to him, "No, not anymore."

"Are you mad at me?"

John drew back without releasing Sherlock to look at the other man's face. "I wasn't mad at you Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned, "You sounded mad."

"I wasn't mad I promise I was…frustrated?" It sounded more like a question. Frustrated didn't feel like the right word.

"So was that a declaration of love?" The tall man asked.

John pulled further back staring wide eyed at Sherlock. "Excuse me?"

"You can't live without me that's what you said. Is that love?" The man pressed.

"I never said that!"

"Close enough," Sherlock shrugged, "So is that love?"

John gaped at the man in his arms, not sure how to respond.

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes before ducking in to peck John on the cheek startling the doctor further.

"What…ummm…what?" John stammered. His mouth didn't want to work and his heart felt like it was in his throat.

"If it helps fix you, I do love you John and yes one day I may die probably from my own stupidity but I will do my best not to in your presences." Sherlock spoke quietly mostly in John's ear.

The doctor jerked his head to stare at the lanky man in his lap. The color changing eyes of Sherlock's were strangely swirling with emotion something John rarely had the pleasure of seeing. This was the first time the supposed sociopath was actually opening up and being human.

Sherlock's frown deepened and he poked at John's chest, "Can you stop being broken? I don't know what to do with you like this."

John came back to himself as Sherlock's words sunk in. "Did you just call yourself stupid?"

"Of everything I said that's all you got!" The tall man snapped.

John smirked and dove in for a peck of his own on Sherlock's plush lips.

"I love you too, you mad git."

The smile that crossed Sherlock's face was nothing like an John had ever seen and it was absolutely heartwarming and dispelled further the ridiculous notion of the man being a sociopath.

"Good." Sherlock said as he pressed himself back into John and planting a proper kiss on the waiting doctor.

John would never fully stop worrying about Sherlock and he would be a little over-protective in the coming weeks but the doctor felt better knowing that he would do everything in his power to keep the prat of a man he loved alive.


End file.
